


5 times John talked to animals and one time John talked to Sherlock

by Aurorealis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Asexual Sherlock, Cat Sherlock, Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Gen, John Has Powers, Love Confessions, Magic, Magical Realism, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fill, Talking Animals, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:06:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3771049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurorealis/pseuds/Aurorealis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can sometimes talk to animals. Sometimes, this is helpful.</p><p>Other times, it is really, really not.</p><p>Five times John talked to animals and one time he talked to Sherlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> very silly prompt from the kmeme: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/22636.html?thread=133278060#t133278060
> 
> "A character (or characters) of your choice can talk to animals. This is sometimes helpful, and sometimes extremely unhelpful."
> 
> the cat sherlock tag is for the +1 in case it wasn't obvious.
> 
> man I can't believe I'm writing for this fandom. Tumblr as a whole (or at least my slice of tumblr experience) has been filled with mocking the superwholock fandom constantly. I have no current interest in the other two (time commitment, mostly) but out of morbid curiosity, I thought "why not give this one a try?". The conclusion is that hey, it's not bad. I can see where the ship comes in, the johnlock dynamic is nice. Though, thanks to tumblr I am continuously critical and suspicious about bendy cucumber (which sucks because usually I'm able to completely ignore actors and absorb them as their character only. Now I'm stuck being very uncomfortable even writing his name, jokingly or not. Thanks a lot, tumblr)

See, the thing with being able to talk to animals is that animals aren't used to being talked to. In John's experience, there was one of two reactions. The first is elation. Many animals were ecstatic to finally find a human with a head on its shoulders. They would express that excitement by following John around constantly, making an absolute pest of themselves. The second reaction is anger. The animal was disgusted by the “filthy mind beast” that dared approach them, and they would make this displeasure known as clearly as possible. 

Funnily enough, John found the majority of stray cats to belong in the latter category. Of course, it wasn't surprising. God, John hated cats. Even the house cats liked to straddle the line between both options, jumping to one and the other as it suited their mood.

::Mind beast! Talking mind beast! On my territory!:: The scraggy, pole thin tortoiseshell from the alley one street over yowled in his head. Of course, it wasn't a physical voice. But the mental projection always came off so high and grating that it might as well be from the cat's actual voice box. John stoically ignored the hell beast, nicknamed Harpy. She always did that whenever John walked by. And it was close to the flat, so he did that often.

::Don't you dare ignore me! I know you can hear me!:: Harpy hissed and spit. ::Get out of my territory!::

John sighed, finally relenting. ::I am, you twit. I haven't even paused by your alley.::

::You never leave! Set up a cozy lair, right under my nose! In one of those mind beast fortresses!:: John paused at the accusation, snorting lightly.

::That would be my flat. Those 'fortresses' don't belong to you, so you have no claim to them:: He would have mentioned that Harpy didn't have any claim to her alley either, but that would be useless. John had gone down that path before, and it only led to even more incessant screeching.

::I'm expanding my territory:: Harpy's speech came almost like a huff. John rolled his eyes. ::And if you don't leave, I'm going to go after your mate.::

That made John pause for a moment. Go bloody figure. Even animals loved to misinterpret his relationship with his flatmate, it seemed. John was hit with a wave of smug contentment. Harpy thought she had won with that line. 

Well, John mused. We can't have that. ::Do your worst, Harpy.:: She was just one cat, after all. What could she do? Take a swipe at Sherlock the next time she saw him? He never went anywhere nearby, always managing to hail a cab right from the doorstep. 

Naturally, John was wrong. Of course Harpy was able to enlist the help of nearly every stray in the city to harass both of them at all times spent outside of building or vehicle. When they weren't scrambling up Sherlock's belstaff to dig claws into his hair, they were dashing under John's legs at the last moment and yowling up a storm. Never mind that cats were supposed to be solitary creatures. Nevermind that this primarily happened at crime scenes, where the entire department it seemed would start to give them baffled looks. 

Throughout the entire ordeal, Sherlock gave John increasingly suspicious and accusatory looks, as if he'd somehow managed to deduce that this was his fault. Who was John kidding? Of course he had.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 221B gets rats, for an unnaturally short amount of time. Sherlock is suspicious, but probably still confident in his ability to eventually deduce whatever is going on.

“John. This is your fault.” 

John looked up from his laptop. The cat thing was old news, and Sherlock hadn't said a word. Of course, his looks had said something on their own, probably that he knew something but didn't quite have enough evidence to outright accuse. So, it was something else. “What is, Sherlock?” 

“This!” Sherlock huffed, annoyed. He waved about a small, rectangular piece of wood. It was a mousetrap. “Mrs. Hudson spotted a rat. She's been putting these up all over the place.”

“And how is that my fault?” John was genuinely curious. 

Sherlock glared, but not with any real heat. It was more of a pout really, for all that his lips didn't even twitch. Not that John was thinking of Sherlock's lips, of course. “You've been buying more good. It's obviously attracted the rats.”

John raised his eyebrows. “I always store food properly. How do you know it's not all your experiments that's doing the attracting?” John pointedly glanced at the table, where one of the older experiments was sitting. It was getting quite ripe, but Sherlock had insisted on not moving it. 

“Obviously John, because I've never gotten an infestation. That, and I always abide by health regulations when it comes to pest control.” John snorted loudly. “You doubt me?” Sherlock sounded genuinely offended. “Infestations can ruin everything, John! They completely change the system, adding variables and completely destroying any control!”

Of course he's worried if it puts his science in danger. John stopped himself before he could grin. It wouldn't do any good to make fun of Sherlock now. Even if it was funny, John had to concede that Sherlock's experiments meant a lot to him. Therefore, they should matter at least a little bit to John.

“Alright, well, I still don't think it's my fault.” Sherlock scowled and opened his mouth. “But!” John interrupted. “ I'll see what I can do.”

“See what you can do? I have a hard time seeing what you could do with your skillset, besides call pest control. And I know you can't afford that. Luckily, I-” Now John really did grin, and Sherlock cut himself off in favour of staring, eyes slightly squinted in suspicion. 

“Don't worry about it, I'm rather good with animals.” Was John's only explanation. Sherlock looked like he wanted to call John out on the obviously inadequate answer. Probably to say something along the lines of 'being good with animals does not extend to dealing with a rat infestation, John'. But he didn't, instead turning away and back to his work and letting the subject drop. It was the Sherlock equivalent of 'I don't believe you but I'm willing to see where you're going with this one'. 

Just to be safe, John waited a day before he acted. Sherlock was thankfully out, pestering Lestrade for cases. ::Excuse me?:: He called out, projecting his mental voice. It was a bit of a challenge to do when the animal, or animals in this case, weren't within view. But John had plenty of practice, and sure enough only minutes went by before several little grey shapes scurried out from god knows where.

Or rather, John realized, the shapes weren't so little. He'd forgotten how large rats could be, espcially rats fat on human food. He controlled a shudder of sudden revulsion as the several rats grew to at least a dozen, scurrying about his feet excitedly. ::Talking mind-beast! Mind-giant, it speaks to us, to us!:: 

The voices where staggered, not quite unified but not quite separate. Things always got a little funny when multiple of the same animal were talking to him. Animals just didn't have the same sense of self, their consciousness tending to blend together. It probably had something to do with why every animal always referred to humans as 'mind beasts', as if they themselves didn't actually have minds. Most people would of course agree with this, but John found it hard to wrap his head around, given that it turned out that animals could all speak fluent English, apparently. Even the ones in Afghanistan. Or maybe his mind just translated it as such.

Sherlock would be downright scandalized with the complete lack of research or any real investigation into his strange little ability. Frankly, John thought it was just a little too weird, better left as a mystery. He wasn't a scientist, after all. And he also didn't really want to know if there even was a scientific explanation or if it was magic after all just like his grandmother had insisted. 

::What is it, mind beast? Talking beast? What does the talking beast say to us?:: John grimaced. There looked to be a good two dozen. And he had been sure to only extend his voice a few building's radius. 

::Well, as you know, I live here.:: John started.

::Live live here, yes! We live here too! Would have come, will come now that we know! Speaking one will speak for us, yes?:: Far too many beady eyes stared up at John. ::Will get us things? Talk to us? Explain stupid mind beastspatternsways, help us?:: 

John had to shake his head. ::Calm down, there are too many of you.:: 

::Too many? There is us. Too many bodies? Not enough!:: And John had confused them. 

::Sorry, nevermind. I wanted to ask you something.:: They perked up at that, shouting various affirmations and questioning notes into John's mind. ::I would like for you all to leave this building.::

Immediately John was swamped with confusion and anxiety. ::Home, safesharecozy, why? Our home, den, is warm and there is food and comfort and breeding. We prosper.::

::Yes, however, one of the mind beasts has put out traps for you. It's not safe for you, they will drive you out.:: John purposefully did not mention the fact that rat poison was most likely next. He wouldn't be responsible for that method failing due to an accidental warning. 

Instead of immediately speaking, they swarmed John with alarm and mental images of dead rats along with an intense questioning. ::Why are mind beasts cruel to us?:: They finally spoke after gathering their thoughts. 

::Because::, John thought quickly. ::We can not prosper when you are here. You spoil our food and spread illness. Our houses are shut down and destroyed.::

The response was surprisingly sheepish, even a bit guilty. ::We can not leave. Mind beast homes are our haven.:: It sounded downright apologetic. 

::Could you move to a different home?:: John pondered, trying to stall for a better idea. But instead, the rats latched onto that.

::Yes, yes! As favour to talking mind beast! Can not, will not be responsible for talking suffering. Not competitor, not food... plenty of room. Will move!::

John blinked. And blinked again. ::Thank you, then.::

::No problem, no problem, gift for talking one! You warn us of danger, we will help!::

And that, apparently, was that. When a month went by with no further sign of any pests, Mrs. Hudson took the traps down, clear relief in her shoulders. Sherlock, who had probably been paying extra attention to the situation, narrowed his eyes into slits as he considered John. But still, he didn't say anything. And John wasn't about to start the conversation either. The way he figured, it wasn't worth mentioning until a verbal confrontation. The ability to talk to animals was far too bizarre to just bring up out of the blue. If Sherlock wanted the information, he could always ask.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does as Sherlock does when presented with a mystery and an obvious lack of information

John stepped through the doorway, glad to be back home after a particularly long shift. And then he stopped in his tracks.

“Sherlock.” John muttered, staring at what could only be his flatmates fault. “Sherlock!” He called more loudly, accusation in his voice. “Why are there pigeons here?” And there were quite a lot of pigeons, too. All milling about and pecking at piles of bird treats strewn all over the floor. 

“Experiment, John. Obviously.” Sherlock called from his position on the couch. He had a laptop out- John's, of course. John held his breath for a moment, exhaling in a large sigh. Calmly, he hung his jacket and picked his way over the milling birds- all sending impressions of confused contentment. At least John wasn't the only confused one here. 

“And what experiment could possibly require covering our flat with birds?” John accidentally stepped on a pile of the bird treats, sending them skittering. “And seeds? Honestly, do you have any idea how big a mess this will make? Has already made?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If I told you, it would alter my results. Introduce bias. You do know what bias is, I hope.” 

John was incredibly unimpressed. “Look, normally I'm all for your experiments, but this-”

“No you're not.” Sherlock cut in, his expression petulant. John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “You are never 'all for' my experiments.” He clarified.

“Okay, you're right about that,” John conceded. “ But you have to admit I'm fairly tolerant for the most part. I mean, sure I don't appreciate having the microwave taken out of commission-”

“I replaced that!” Sherlock huffed.

“Regardless,” John's voice raised over the interruption. “ I've long since accepted your experiments as a matter of fact, regardless of my fondness for it. But this is ridiculous, Sherlock. I'm putting my foot down, here.” He gestured around him. The room was already cluttered in normal situations, but now it felt downright claustrophobic with so many feathered intruders. 

“But John, this is important! I found where the rats had been nesting, there was evidence of dozens living under the house. But they all left at once, coinciding right when you dealt with the problem, and with nothing to show how you managed it! And consequently, after that the residents of nearby buildings started purchasing rat poison and traps, coinciding perfectly with the amount of time it would take for that size of a colony to resettle.”

John blinked, and opened his mouth. “Don't you dare say a word, John. You'll ruin everything.”

“Excuse me!?” Ruin everything? John was used to Sherlock's dramatics but this was a bit much. 

“Yes, John. Ruin. I don't have enough information. But mark my words, I'm getting to the bottom of this.” 

“Oh my god Sherlock.” John groaned. “You had to get out flat covered in pigeon droppings for that? You couldn't just ask? “

A withering glare was Sherlock's only response. Of course, stupid question. “So what, you want me to get rid of them, too?”, John rubbed a hand over his eyes. Honestly, he'd rather eat something and watch the telly, but that wasn't much of an option right now. 

“Like I said, that would alter my results. Do keep up, John.” Sherlock snapped. That was another stupid question, then. 

“Well,” John straightened. There was nothing for it, when it came to unreasonable flat mates. “If you want to know more about it, you can do something that doesn't ruin the flooring. I'm telling them to leave anyways.” 

“Wait, no-John!” Sherlock flailed in some bizarre attempt to stop John from saying anything else, nearly falling off the couch and actually dropping the laptop onto the ground. It hit a pigeon's foot, causing the bird to squawk and burst into the air and smack right into Sherlock's face in a flurry of wings. Sherlock yelped, and John couldn't help cackling at the sight. 

“You see why they need to go now?” John chuckled. Sherlock glared murderously, but they'd been friends long enough that it had no effect. 

“Right, then.” John coughed. He hadn't done this in front of an attentive audience before. Then again, when it was all in your head, there was hardly anything for an audience to notice, no matter how attentive. But of course, if there was anyone who could pick up on mind reading, it was Sherlock. 

::Excuse me, pigeons?:: John extended his voice. He could tell that he had reached far enough to get more than just the birds in the house. Thankfully though, John knew by now how to make sure he targeted only the species he wanted to. 

::WHAT WHAT WHAT MIND SPEAK MIND:: the voices clamoured, and John had to bite back a groan. This was why he hated dealing with groups of animals. The questions and accusations and excitement bled directly into his mind. 

::Shut! Up!:: John projected forcefully. It wasn't their fault that he was being rude. But John couldn't help it, he was just not in the mood for a pleasant chat. ::You will all leave this building immediately!:: That the pigeons were shocked was an understatement. The sudden fear was nearly palpable as every bird in the flat froze. 

It wasn't that John could control animals, per se. Rather, he could suggest. Many, like the rats, were content to follow simple requests. Others required a bit of mental force. Even others, Harpy chief among them, were so resistant that all but John's strongest suggestions washed off. Pigeons, thankfully, were prey creatures accustomed to living in flocks. They followed suggestions easily, and John was pressing rather hard. 

Even Sherlock had stopped in place, staring wide eyed at the absolute stillness. John broke the moment by stepping over to the doorway and stomping down the stairs. He yanked the door wide open. ::Leave, now!:: The flat erupted into flapping wings as the birds fought over themselves to pile out and tumble down the stairs. They crowded at the bottom before scrambling out the front and taking off into the sky. 

Sherlock had whipped around the corner at the same time as the birds so he could get a better look at what John was doing. As a result, he was covered in stray feathers. Sherlock gave John a squinted look that was ruined by the fluffy white down feathers caught in his curls. 

Now that the building was quiet once more, John felt somewhat sheepish as he closed the door and walked back up to their flat. Sherlock crossed his arms in irritation, but didn't say anything.

Of course, when John got another look at the mess that had been made, his anger sparked again. “You're cleaning this up, I hope you realize.” 

Instead of confirming or denying it, Sherlock huffed. “Those pigeons were not trained. I caught them myself. When you've eliminated the impossible..” Sherlock sighed. “But that doesn't tell me what to do when nothing possible even remains!” Sherlock whirled, pointing an accusatory finger at John. “This isn't drugs, it isn't an elaborate trick! There is nothing of any probability left that I can think of, and I can think of quite a few things!” 

Sherlock looked so frazzled that John couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. It was almost cute, really. Okay fine, it was downright adorable. But also sad. “Just get yourself cleaned up, Sherlock. I've always been able to talk to animals, and I've never figured out how it works either.” 

He actually gaped in response, and John had to hold back a giggle at the expression. “Talk to animals? John, do you have any idea how-” He cut himself off at John's raised eyebrow. “Fine. I'll clean up. But this is not over.” 

Sherlock stomped towards the bathroom, pausing once more before he entered. “And you cheated, John! You weren't supposed to tell me!”

“You never would have gotten it!” John actually laughed now, picking his way through the pigeon refuse to the kitchen. Tea would be more than welcome at this point. 

“..You don't know that!” But the slight hesitance in Sherlock's voice was telling. John was sure he'd regret revealing anything soon enough, there was no way Sherlock would just leave a mystery like this until it had been fully mapped out, explored, and turned into something boring. But for now, he would sit down and enjoy his tea and the memory of Sherlock getting brained by a pigeon. Maybe John should invest in a mind palace exercise too, if it meant that he could make sure he never forget that particular moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is intrigued. John is indulgent.

It figured that John scarcely got a day before being descended upon. 

“John. John, no. You don't understand how impossible that is.”

“Believe me, Sherlock. I'm well aware. That doesn't stop me from being able to do so.”

“No, but John.” Here, his name was stretched. “Animals do not have the mental capacity for speech, verbal of otherwise. The communication centres in their brains are NOT advanced enough.” Sherlock huffed, looking actually tired for once. “Even if psychic mind links existed, which I also doubt but am forced to include as a possibility, animals can not reason like that. The closest we have are gorillas with sign language, but even they are unable to comprehend past a toddler's level and that's with extensive training on our closest evolutionary relative...”

“Yes, I know.” John finally looked up from his laptop. “I am a doctor, remember? I may not be a brain surgeon, but I am aware of what factors set us apart from other species.”

“But John” Sherlock wheedled. “It doesn't make any sense! Either animals are excellent actors and always act below their capabilities even in the face of death, or you just bestow some temporary state of sentience when you 'communicate'” Sherlock laced his voice with disgust at the term. “Either option is completely ridiculous.” 

“Look, as far as I've been aware, there's some sort of shared network or something. Animals in a group of the same species tend to bleed together. They can have differing opinions, but it's more like one person who can't make up their mind, than an actual gathering.”

“That's still... wait..” Sherlock paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Quantum physics, perhaps? Entanglement is a recent discovery. I don't know enough about the subject, though. Laptop?”

John raised an eyebrow. “I'm using it now.”

“I need it, John. To research quantum physics.” 

“You can research later, then. It's my laptop.”

“But I need it now, John. It's already been too long since I've been able to deduce anything. I need more information, and since you won't let me run any more experiments, I am forced to research.” Sherlock stared at John blankly, as if stopping just short of reaching out and making grabby hands.

John sighed. “Why don't you take a case? There has to be something more interesting than this.” 

Immediately, Sherlock looked affronted. “Never. What could be more interesting than this? This is easily past any scaling system, and plus..” Sherlock cut himself off, looking sharply away. John was about to ask what it was, but then Sherlock coughed and came back on track. “There hasn't been anything above a four in the past week, you know that.” 

He continued to stare at John. Sadly, they both knew who would cave first. John finally saved his draft and closed the web page, wordlessly handing it over. He still didn't know why Sherlock always seemed to refuse using his own computer. It was frustrating, but by now John was used to it.

Instead of worrying, John watched the telly. Sherlock remained a silent statue, only moving to type something, or to scroll and click. Then John left for his shift, and came back to Sherlock in the exact same position. The only proof that he had moved at all were the fresh nicotine patches. 

“Have you eaten anything? Or at least had something to drink?” John didn't expect a coherent answer, and didn't receive one. He barely even managed to get some tea into Sherlock before winding down for the night. Naturally, Sherlock made no attempt to go to bed.

It was sometime two days later that Sherlock eventually emerged from his research binge. Very suddenly, he stretched his back out like a cat and stalked to the doorway. John didn't notice right away, assuming that he had gotten up for another patch or to use the washroom, as rarely as he did so. But then, “Come on, John. Let's go.”

John looked up to see Sherlock pulling on his coat. “Where to? Finally taking a case?”

“Of course not. I've exhausted the internet's resources, and as loathe as I am to admit it, we don't have the facilities for quantum research. Even if we did, the field is not advanced enough to be able to confirm or deny my hypothesis.”

“And that has to do with.. what?”

“Really, John.” Sherlock levelled him with one of his looks. The one that said he may or may not be unfavourably comparing John's intelligence with a rock. Or worse, Anderson. “We're going to run some tests with your communication abilities. You did say not to do anymore inside.”

Well. “I suppose I can't argue with that.” John stood up, making for his own jacket. There really wasn't any option when it came to Sherlock and a case. 

“So, what' the test you want to run, anyways?” John asked once they were in the cab. 

“Simple. You've told me about the difference between talking to one subject versus multiple. I've witnessed a group event twice, even if once was after the fact. All the subjects have been feral as well as generally stupid. I need to see how different it is when you talk to something more intelligent, as well as domesticated. Something with experience listening to humans and an individual.”

John raised an eyebrow. “If it's just an individual, there's this cat named Harpy down the street-”

“It gave you an actual name? From a past owner?” Sherlock perked in excitement.

“Er, no, actually that's just what I've been calling her. She's the one responsible for the cat problem we had a while back.” 

Somehow, Sherlock became even more interested. “Cat's are solitary creatures, they shouldn't be able to organize themselves like that, or listen to anything as specific as 'harass these specific humans'. Crows have that ability, so it's not impossible, but they are flock creatures. Cat's simply don't work together like that.”

John quirked his lips into a wry grin. “That's what I thought. But where there's a will there's a way, when it comes to all this. From my experience, anyways.” 

“John.” Sherlock gave him and offended look. “How can you be dismissive at a time like now? This is another piece of evidence showing that you manage to somehow bestow sentience onto unintelligent creatures! Or at least, you engage more of some nonphysical shared mental interface that lives through and controls animals. The possibilities are-” Sherlock cut himself off as the car rolled to a stop. “Ah, we're here.”

“Right, where is here, again?” John asked as he clamoured out of the taxi. Only to see the front of Scotland Yard standing in front of him. 

“I'd hope you would recognize the place by now.” Sherlock grinned. John snorted, it was obvious Sherlock was teasing him.

“Fine, I walked into that one.” John gave the building another look over. “Why are we here, then? You said you wanted to test the.. animal thing? I mean, if you want to take a case anyways, I'm all for it-”

“Don't be ridiculous, John. You of all people should realize I don't change my mind so quickly when it comes to interesting topics. Now come, we need to get Lestrade to give us a police dog.” 

“A-what- Sherlock, no!” John protested, even as he automatically started trailing after Sherlock's long strides. “We can't just bully Lestrade into lending us a dog!”

“'Bullying' is such a vulgar term. I prefer 'convincing'.” Was all that John got from Sherlock.

Predictably, Lestrade protested, loudly. Even more predictably, Donovan strolled by at just the right moment to butt in with confusion and yet another “freak” comment. John sighed, resisting the urge to press a hand to his brow when Sherlock shot back with his usual overly personal deductions. 

The only not predictable thing about the exchange was that Lestrade caved quicker than usual. “Look, for what might be the first time, I actually do have sniffer dogs in my division. But you have to take a few cases, yeah? We're swamped here, and if you want to be there for the exciting cases you need to take something less glamourous once in a while.”

Sherlock sniffed, squaring his shoulders. “One, then. Hand it over.” John's eyes nearly bulged with how quickly he had acquiesced. Lestrade was worse off, actually gaping. Wordlessly, he passed off the report currently in his hands. 

Sherlock looked down at the folder, eyes scanning quickly. His lips pursed slightly, the way they often did when he was focused. John tore himself from the sight, realizing that thinking too much on his friend's lips was a bit not good. 

“It's the boyfriend, the male friend, or male friend's boyfriend. Check the home again. There should be beer in the fridge. Check the fingerprints for your best suspect. For better proof, check the saliva of a recently used bottle, most likely in the recycling. Typical violence case, the killer isn't normally a drunk, most likely came into recent hardships. Can't confirm anything else with the pathetically small amount of information gathered here. Now, the dogs?”

Lestrade paused for a moment, recovering in the face of familiarity. “A-alright then.” He took the folder, jotting down a quick note. “I still don't know why on earth you need to see a police dog, certainly not for a case since you haven't taken any..”

“I just took one now, that was our deal, was it not?” Sherlock scowled. “You never said I had to tell you why.” He cocked his head slightly. “I'm not planning to harm them, if that is the concern.”

“No, no, of course not!” Lestrade protested. “I don't think you're the type to abuse animals, or if you were it wouldn't make sense to go after police dogs. I'm just.. confused.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock scoffed under his breath, and John held back a snort of laughter. He was usually more sympathetic to Lestrade, but the exchange was just funny. Rolling his eyes, Lestrade reached for the phone on his desk. After dialing a number, he picked it up.

“Hey Sam, it's Greg.” Lestrade paused. “No, don't worry. I have someone here who wants to take a look at the dogs..” A longer pause. “Well, you know Sherlock, right? Or at least, you've heard of him?” Lestrade wrinkled his nose after a moment. “Oh, he is not THAT bad, and you must know how hard it is for me to say something like that... he just needs to see them for a bit, he's not going to murder them-” Lestrade let out a long sigh. “Unstable, maybe, but not like that.”

John wanted to frown at the obviously negative things being said, but Sherlock looked hardly offended. In fact, he had a little smile on, clearly finding the ordeal amusing. Or maybe he just thought Lestrade being in the position to defend him was funny. “Look, am I the type of man to work with someone who would do that? If he wanted to do something to your dogs, I'd think he'd be a little more creative than asking to see them first. Now would you please just cooperate for now, the sooner this is done with, the sooner he'll stop pestering me.” 

Now Sherlock really did laugh, a quiet but deep chuckle that sent a stutter to John's heart and a faint blush to his cheeks. Lestrade hung the phone up with a groan. “Go ahead, I assume you know where they're kept. Sam promised not to do anything, but for the love of god please make it quick.” 

Sherlock made no such promises, instead merely nodding and sweeping off, smile still on his lips. “I'm sure we'll be quick,” John promised before turning to follow. 

The actual dogs ended up being a delight. The officer in charge of them, presumably named Sam, only allowed them near a pair of German Shepherds. “They aren't show dogs, mind.” The officer glared at them both with mistrust. 

Sherlock completely ignored the man, instead relaying the questions he wanted to John. John did his best to translate to the dogs, and report back. They were a bit wary at being contacted, having absolute loyalty to their handlers. At the same time though, they were happy to answer questions.

It was a bit interesting, talking to trained animals. Dogs were clever, and noticed more than other animals, but they still didn't notice things quite like a human would. When John asked them how they compared scents and kept them separate, he was only given blank confusion in response. 

::Can you give the other dogs a message?:: John asked at Sherlock's insistence, much to the great confusion of the officer. 

::Message? Yes, we can. Why, though?:: John repeated dutifully. 

Sherlock almost jumped with excitement. “He just asked a question without prompting! He wants to know why, John! That's extraordinary! And they can spread information through to different bodies in the network?” His eyes narrowed in thought. “Tell them to tell every dog possible to harass and bother Anderson whenever they come across him.” 

“Sherlock!” John admonished. Then he remembered how awful Anderson had been when they were dealing with the cat problem. He had been absolutely incessant in his teasing, somehow becoming even more rude than normal. “You know what, never mind.” And John did just that, providing a complete mental image. When the dogs responded with familiarity, returning a memory of Anderson's scent, John knew the message had been received. 

“Good, let's go. I need to compile my data.” Sherlock nodded to the dogs rather than the officer. John sent them a mental farewell. 

“You know Sherlock, that might be the first time I've ever been given a scent over the mental link. It was rather interesting.”

“A scent?” Sherlock whirled on him. “Fascinating. How is it processed? Do you perceive it in the same way the dogs did? But humans don't have the same complexity with scent processing. It should have come in a way that is compatible with human abilities. But, what equivalents would be made? A dog's scent processors are so much more advanced, that whatever you got might be wildly different..” And he started grilling John.

As he answered to the best of his abilities, John couldn't help but grin. Sherlock was happy, excited and engaged- his emotions were infectious. And they hadn't even needed a serial killer this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much actual animal talking, but hey, it is what it is. And in this case, the 'it' is character interaction. I never liked Donovan's continuous barbs, but to be fair to her, Sherlock commenting on who she's banged is super uncalled for. Like, I get that he's probably not recognizing how much worse it is for women (especially poc women in male dominated fields) to get those accusations than men, but dude come on. I'd like to see a fic sometime where John calls is out as 'a bit not good', because true accusation or not Donovan's probably getting a lot of misogynistic harassment in the background as it is so I can see where she'd go on the defensive.
> 
> Anderson on the other hand just seems like an all around dick. Not that I've watched past season one yet, so feel free to let me know if that changes anywhere. Judging by his usual portrayals in fanfiction, I'm guessing it doesn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans are animals too, in a way.

“Now Sherlock, please remember what I asked.” John nervously looked to his flatmate and back to the rather unassuming country house in front of them.

“Yes, of course John. They are not clients and I should be as courteous as I can manage with them. That means no strings of deductions unless prompted, and even when prompted I should stop as soon as they seem visibly uncomfortable. Failing all else, I should shut up and follow your lead for once.” Sherlock repeated John's words perfectly. “Really, John, I'm not a toddler incapable of politeness.”

“No, that's true,” John admitted. “You just never seem to want to be polite, and I just wanted to make sure you were for today. These are relatives that I don't know very well.”

“Obviously. I'm the one that tracked them down. I'm lucky you even had names to go off of.” And that was true enough. It figured the second John commented on his communication ability being a family trait, Sherlock wanted to track down whoever else had it to compare notes. “Stupid,” Sherlock had said to himself before, for not thinking to ask in the excitement. To be fair to him, he'd asked John if Harry or their parents had the ability- which they hadn't. John hadn't thought to mention at the time that his deceased grandmother and living great aunt had the power as well, being the ones who instructed John. Of course, John barely thought of them at all, and the teaching hadn't been much more than explaining a few basics and calling it magic. 

So, with trepidation John stood in front of his great aunt Penny's house, where she lived with her husband. There were even a couple children that John had never known about, long since grown up and moved out by now. 

Of course, Sherlock had no such hesitations, smoothly walking up to the front and knocking. There were several shouts and stomping before the door finally burst open. “This better not be some Jehova's Witne- ohh.” The elderly woman gave them a double glance. “Well, I certainly hope handsome men such as yourselves aren't a part of that crowd.”

John nearly choked on air, even as Sherlock calmly shook his head. “I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my partner, and your relative, John Watson. We are here on an investigation, if you recall.” 

Aunt Penny stared into space for a moment, considering. And then she suddenly beamed. “Ah yes, I remember that call. Come in, dears. And oh John, look at you. I didn't recognize you at all.”

“Err, that's alright. We haven't spoken in ages.”

“And such a shame, that!” aunt Penny smacked a friendly hand on John's back, ushering them in. “Dear! You wouldn't mind going for a short trip, would you? I've magic business with my relative here.”

An older man set down his newspaper, glancing up. “Magic business, eh? Haven't had any of that in years. Still private as ever, innit?” He was complaining, but in a clearly light hearted manner as he hauled himself up. “The things I do for you, honey.” He grumbled fondly. 

Aunt Penny stepped over to kiss him on the cheek as he pulled on a jacket. “I'll make it up to you dear, cross my heart. Why don't you check on the Pickett's? If you make a big enough nuisance of yourself, I bet they'll take out the cookies.” 

The man laughed and waved his goodbye. Aunt Penny shut the door behind him, suddenly turning more serious. “Right then, on to business. Take a seat, if you'd like?”

Gingerly, John sat on the nearest couch. With impeccable grace, Sherlock settled in beside him, while aunt Penny took the loveseat facing them. “First of all, I need to apologize, John. I knew you had the ability of course, but I never considered that your training would need to be picked up after my dear sister Betty passed.”

“That's.. quite alright. I remember the basics, and it honestly isn't something that I've used often.”

“yes, I can understand that. Going to the city, fighting a war, there wouldn't be much cause to. But that brings me to the other thing...” She trailed off, looking John straight in the eyes. ::I'm certain the one thing you did know was not to tell anyone. Why did you let this man find out?::

John yelped and reeled back, not expecting the voice in his head. “Wh-what? You can talk to people like that?” He scrambled back onto the couch, blushing at Sherlock's delighted smile and obvious interest. 

Aunt Penny frowned. ::Of course you can, though it is a tad more difficult. You really didn't get to know anything, did you?::

John stilled and tried to concentrate. He could do this. ::I was told about communicating with animals?:: 

Aunt Penny grinned wryly. ::Almost, John. You reached out to my darling pet:: Just in time, John heard some excited mental link.

::Err, sorry.:: He apologized, but already could hear the excited intrigue from the animal, whatever it was. 

::It's alright Eos, just another mind beast like myself:: Aunt Penny projected. It was very strange, John decided, to overhear someone else's mental projection. 

::But there isn't anyone else like you!:: Came the childlike answer.

::You are a flatterer, darling. I mean that he can speak like me.:: Penny directed her voice again. ::Eos is a goat. They can be quite clever, and don't raise any suspicion as an animal familiar.::

::Animal familiar? What's that? You make us sound like witches or something?:: John furrowed his eyebrows. 

Aunt Penny looked affronted. ::Why, what else would we be? Honestly, John dear, are you saying you don't have a familiar? It should have been an automatic thing, whether or not you knew about it.:: And then she tilted her head. ::Oh, and good work by the way. You pick up on mental links fast.::

John blushed. ::Honestly, I have no idea. I sometimes talk to the animals of course, but I usually try not to. There is that dreadful cat near our flat, but she has it out for me.::

::Ah, cats.:: There was something infinitely amused in her expression. :: I always wondered why they were so often pictured as familiars when they're arrogant little hell beasts. Truthfully, I think it might have been some witches' idea of a funny joke.::

“As much as this is interesting to try and interpret.” Sherlock cut in suddenly. “Is there something wrong with speaking aloud? I already know John's secret.” John startled, he hadn't realized that Sherlock was getting testy at being ignored so obviously. 

“Ah, sorry Sherlock. Aunt Penny's just been-” 

::Don't, John!:: Aunt Penny's voice cut like a blade, and John froze. Was this what it felt like to be subjected to suggestion? ::How did he find out, anyways? Even if he's your husband, you don't just let the secret out. Even mine- he knows a bit of what's up but he also knows to keep on the downlow and stay out when I ask.::

“He's not my husband!” John blurted out, immediately flushing cherry red. Sherlock raised one eyebrow delicately, looking for all the world only mildly curious at the outburst. Never mind that he'd complained just seconds ago about being left out. ::Look, Sherlock's a genius. He found out enough on his own and there wasn't much I could do. We only even came here because he wanted to know more, frankly I could just leave things as they are.::

Aunt Penny snorted loudly. ::You are a strange one. No familiar, but this Sherlock fellow. If you aren't lovers, I'll eat my foot. Unless you consider him your familiar?::

::What!? Neither!:: John was certain he'd faint from all the blood clearly stuck in his face. But aunt Penny just smirked.

::Look dear, there aren't many of us left, but there are enough. I can't just let this slide, there are rules we need to follow. But I can make the punishment easier for you, and more fun for myself.::

::Wait, punishment? Why would you need to-::

::The code, John. There's a code, and it's a travesty you don't know about it.:: Aunt Penny snapped out. ::The punishment is usually binding your magic, or killing the human who knows. But I can make a good case, since you honestly didn't know. The thing is, I still have to do something.:: The smirk returned, and grew even wider. 

“Right, Sherlock is it? I apologize for excluding you. I've just explained the situation to John, I'm certain he'll relay the information to you soon.” John gaped at the gear switching. ::Wait, no, aunt Penny. Please don't do anything to Sherlock. Do it to me if you have to, but Sherlock hasn't done anything!::

Aunt Penny merely shook her head lightly, causing Sherlock to give John a strange look. “You just tried to plead with her. What about, John?” 

“Oh, it's nothing, really.” Aunt Penny beamed. “I'm just going to do a little demonstration, something John should be able to do after many years of practice, though it is perhaps a bit late considering his age and current skill. You did come here for more information on the gift, yes?”

“We did.” Sherlock confirmed, but looked immediately more wary. He had picked up on the tone, knew there was something off, but wasn't quite able to categorize the threat. 

Neither of them had a chance, really. Aunt Penny's eyes flashed a bright white, then a rich black as she muttered something under her breath, hands faced out towards Sherlock. There was a strange sucking noise, then a loud bang. John tried to turn to Sherlock, to cover or shield him somehow, but he was too late.

Sherlock wasn't there anymore. Instead, there sat a cat, with fluffy, curly black fur. A cat with hauntingly familiar eyes, blown wide with uncharacteristic panic. 

Aunt Penny cackled, sounding every bit the witch she called herself. “Well, that turned out even better than expected. No wonder your alley cat doesn't like you John, when that's that animal form of your partner. It's probably jealous.”

“Wha-h-how!?” John sputtered. He couldn't even tear his eyes off of cat-Sherlock, who was now twisting around and falling over his own legs in confusion. “Turn him back!”

“No can do, John.” Aunt Penny was downright cheerful. “This is the punishment. You have to fix it yourself, and with your skill level, that should satisfy the rest of the coven. Now, what they don't know is that I'm giving you a hint out, because we are family and I feel a bit guilty.”

John gulped. “What's the hint, then?” He prayed it was something easy. 

“Simple, John. What is Sherlock to you, if not a familiar? If you can answer that honestly, then you will know what to do.” Aunt Penny glanced at the clock on the wall. “Now shoo, my husband will be back in the next ten minutes.

With surprising strength, she managed to push John out the door. Almost reflexively, John pulled Sherlock into a gentle hold so that he wouldn't have to stumble over his new paws. The door slammed behind them. 

“Right.” John's voice was unusually high with near panic as he walked to the car. “Well, we did want to see what other capabilities were out there, didn't we?” 

Sherlock glared silently up at John, his pupils sinking to slits in the sunlight. And in that moment, John was able to relax, if only slightly. If Sherlock was well enough to glare at John's attempts at optimism, then there was at least something still right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey, a couple tags are finally relevant :D Yaay


	6. +1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time John talked to Sherlock. And many things were said.

It was somehow unsurprising that Sherlock was able to center himself by the time they got back to the flat. Rather, he was no longer visibly panicking. Of course, he was always good at pushing feelings aside, especially his own. 

::John, calm down, we will be able to fix this.:: Sherlock assured for the third time. It was too bad the John wasn't nearly as capable, the sight of his best friend like this nearly sent him into another shock. 

::Of course!:: John didn't want to even imagine the possibility of this not being fixed. ::Only, I hope you realize I don't know how. I never knew there was anything other than the animals bit.::

::Yes, that's rather obvious, isn't it?:: Sherlock stretched from his position on John's lap. After carrying Sherlock in from the car, neither of them had moved much, needing some form of comfort but not knowing how to word it. ::It really is quite curious. This mind speech feels as natural as speaking, despite the fact that I have possessed the skill. And I am still in control of all my mental faculties even though I presumable am inhabiting a cat's brain. I shouldn't even be sentient, right now.::

John couldn't help a small grin. ::Is this really what you're worrying about, now?::

Sherlock's tail flipped in annoyance. ::This is unprecedented, John! How could you not be interested? My real brain must be operating somewhere, remotely, perhaps? And yet my senses are connected to this cat form. My sense of smell must be using this brain's processing centers, because I can recognize far beyond that of a human. My brain and this cat's must be connected in a binary system, though that does leave the question of where my body is being stored, and where this body came from.::

::Alright, it is a bit interesting,:: John conceded. ::But getting you back to normal is my biggest concern, not all of.. that stuff.::

::Of course,:: Sherlock huffed. ::But we still need to do an MRI on me before I change back. Who knows the next chance we'll get to investigate this.::

::Next chance? I should hope this never happens again.:: John nearly threw his hands up as Sherlock somehow managed to roll his eyes at the comment. It shouldn't be easy given how little white there was to a feline eye. ::Alright, fine, we'll get you your brain scan. My coworkers stopped asking questions ages ago.::

::Good,:: Sherlock approved, :: When stupid people ask questions, time is wasted. This way is much more efficient.:: John couldn't help but bark out a laugh, even as he tried to scold Sherlock in defense of his colleagues. 

::Seriously, though. We need to solve this.:: John tried not to glance too pointedly at Sherlock's furry form. In return, John felt Sherlock take a lungful of air and expel it with a large sigh. 

::Then we must start with our clues. Your relative muttered some words, much too quietly to hear. Spoken too quickly for ritualistic purposes. They were necessary for her power, or somehow they were helpful, as a focus, perhaps.:: Sherlock paused. ::What did she say to you? Word for word. We may be able to gather something from the context.::

John flushed, remembering certain things aunt Penny had implied. But even so, he recounted the words dutifully, as carefully as he could manage. Giving Sherlock the whole picture was more important than being embarrassed, even if some parts made him incredibly so. 

::So, 'what am I to you if not a familiar'? Strange question.:: Sherlock bodily twitched, shifting as if in discomfort. 

::It doesn't make sense. I didn't even know familiars existed, but you most certainly aren't one.:: Obviously, there was her insinuation that they were romantic partners, but John desperately didn't want to bring that topic up. Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to be ignoring it at the moment as well. ::For one thing, familiars seem like servants, assuming mythology has gotten it right. And you hardly listen to me even when you ask for advice. And the idea that I'd want you to serve me is ridiculous.:: John couldn't help but flush. It was such a far fetched idea that he felt a bit embarrassed for even speaking it.

::True, if anything it is the other way around.:: Sherlock glanced blankly up at John just as he started a protest. ::Of course, I view our partnership as an equal exchange. However, the nature of my role requires me to lead. That can be taken as total dominance, by outsiders.:: Sherlock looked away now, flicking his ears back and forth. ::Of course, any intelligent observer would clearly see..:: And John distinctly heard the word trail off in his mind. :: I do respect your opinions. When they're not wrong.:: 

John couldn't help it, he laughed. ::Oh shut up!:: Sherlock managed to jump off of John's lap, fur bristling. ::I am far more likely to do something because you told me to than because anyone else told me to, alright?:: 

In the middle of a chuckle, John felt his heart skip, and then melt. Coming from Sherlock, that was practically “I'd follow you to the ends of the world and beyond”, perhaps even more so because Sherlock never said anything he didn't mean. Still, ::You would never even consider doing something just because it was asked of you. But thanks.:: John teased, light heartedly because it did mean a lot and they both knew it. John wondered if the sudden warmth of affection welling up meant that he might have more than an inappropriate crush on his best friend. Really though, that wasn't a matter worth focusing on right now. 

::So what do we do, then?:: John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who was now pacing, slightly unsteady on his four paws. 

::Now, John? We investigate.::  
\--  
“Please, aunt Penny! You have to give me something!” It had been a week. A dreaded week's worth of Sherlock slowly devolving into the worst of his 'boredom' phases. As it turned out, there were only so many things that one could do as a cat, and they all soon lost their novelty. Now he just ran around the flat, scratching up every surface he could between intermittent bouts of categorizing new scents into his mind palace. 

“Sorry dear, I told you. It has to be a punishment. I'm sure you can figure it out.”

“I can't! Your hint doesn't help at all. How do I know who someone is 'if not a familiar' when I don't know anything about familiars!?” John gripped his phone tightly. “Are familiars like servants? Close friends? Business partners?” He rattled off their top ideas. It was impossible to figure out on their own, with no access to source material and little to no ability to perform relevant experiments. And that didn't even get started on using that information to solve the riddle that would presumably fix Sherlock.

“Oh, oh dear. You did put some thought into it, sorry there.” The other line paused for several moments. “Well, I suppose it wouldn't help to clarify. A familiar is an animal that has developed its own mind and chosen to partner with you. You've surely noticed by now that animals aren't exactly separate? And that talking to the same animal enough times will gradually cause it to seem more individual?”

“Er, yes.” That was actually one of the many experiments Sherlock had proposed, but he had also seen it happen, especially in his younger years.

“Well, a familiar happens when that new individual happens to best reflect you. They can be very similar in temperament, take my Eos for example. Or, they can be completely different but in a way that compliments your faults. They complete your soul, in the purest sense possible.” Her voice went positively wistful. “It is true that most witches traditionally like to appear in charge of their familiars, but-” And here, aunt Penny clearly held a note of amusement in her voice as she extended the word.

“but what?” John prompted when the silence trailed on too long.

“You don't seem the type for tradition, do you?” John nearly sputtered at the comment, but really, it was correct even if it clearly came with an incorrect assumption. Or, maybe not so incorrect. 

Or, the assumption was incorrect, but not because John wanted it to be. He swallowed his discomfort- he had to ask even if asking meant revealing the obvious. “If it is meant to be an equal partnership, then what is the difference between a familiar, and a... lover?”

Aunt Penny laughed, sounding tinny over the phone. “And that is the right question, isn't it? You would have an equal amount of love for both, so I understand the confusion. And there are probably many answers. But truthfully, the only difference is that a familiar is someone you love because they are a part of you, your soul's magic enhancing a complimentary base and creating a person. A lover is someone you love because of their own self. They aren't your missing half, or whatever bollocks they try to sell nowadays- no one is only half on their own. That's a good thing too, just imagine trying to kiss something that's half you?” Aunt Penny cackled again. “Positively narcissistic! And that's enough hints for you, dear. If you don't get it by now, you're hopeless.” The sound of the receiver clacking shut hit John's ears just before the standard tone of an ended call. What kind of answer was that? 'You don't seem the type for tradition' my foot, John grumbled mentally. 

::Did she say anything of value?:: Sherlock called from his position on the couch. 

::Yes and no.:: John played the conversation back to Sherlock.

::Hmm. So it is meant to be an equal exchange, cultural influence aside. She clearly has an angle though, one that isn't necessarily about freeing me or keeping me like this.:: The unsaid words rang loudly in the silence between them. 

::John, I have an idea. Many ideas, naturally, but let's try this one, first.:: Sherlock announced suddenly, padding over to John silently. 

::Err, alright.:: John would never get used to how quickly Sherlock's mind spun. But that was part of the excitement. 

::John, try to kiss me.:: John froze. ::I am not joking, John. If there is any basis at all to stories of witchcraft, it is that spells can be reversed through some sign of affection, often kisses. Your great aunt's words clearly implied such an act, she is not so stupid as to make a joke like that without a point. And her allusions to us being romantically involved are obvious. 'You don't kiss a part of yourself', she said. The difference, in her eyes, is then that you would kiss me.:: 

The words made logical sense, for all that they were ridiculous. Even Sherlock looked the picture of awkwardness, tail whipping in agitation. ::Right. Worth a try, I suppose.:: John coughed. ::On the lips then, I suppose?::

Sherlock nodded stiffly. His smaller body went positively rigid when John carefully knelt down across from him, causing John to mutter a quick apology. ::You know I can't understand you when you speak verbally. Bloody cat brain.::

::Right, I was just apologizing. This really is awkward, you being an animal:: John tried to joke as he leaned forward. 

::If this works, I'll give you a real one when I'm back, then.::

Before John could fully register the words, or form any response besides surprise, their lips met. Sherlock's whiskers felt faintly ticklish, another point to how ridiculous the whole situation looked. Then Sherlock exploded into himself, and the lips on John's were entirely human. 

John pulled back at the sudden change. “I... can not believe that worked!” He spoke a full sentence aloud to Sherlock, for the first time in what felt like ages. 

Sherlock laughed. “It was the simple answer, so obvious! There's always something, isn't there?” He pulled John into an uncharacteristic embrace. And then Sherlock leaned down to kiss John. It was soft, gentle and quick. But more importantly, it was from Sherlock.

“W-wait, what?” John felt like a schoolgirl, his face blazing crimson. 

“What?” Sherlock tried to look nonchalant but there was a definite hint of redness to his cheeks, and the fact that he was not meeting John's eyes was telling. “I said I would. And perhaps there may have been a point along your great aunt's insinuations that I agreed with?”

John stared back in shock. All this time? Was John just an idiot? Sherlock looked at John's face and immediately deflated, getting the wrong idea. “A bit not good?” He asked, almost meekly.

“What-no! A bit very good!” John blurted before he could even think about the words, pulling Sherlock into another deep hug. “What I mean, is, maybe I agreed too, a bit. But never wanted to say anything?”

“Ah. The 'married to my work' conversation?” John wordlessly nodded. “Well, even I can change my mind sometimes.” Sherlock grinned broadly. “I like where we are now. I'd like to make my affections known, without changing our working dynamic. I would also like to pursue an exclusive romantic engagement with you, but without a sexual component. Is that acceptable?” Sherlock was clearly hopeful, and even more clearly vulnerable.

John thought about it for a moment. He was a sexual being, yes. But he was also in love with Sherlock, hopelessly so, even if he was in deep denial for the most of it. So in the end, it was hardly a question. “Of course that's acceptable, Sherlock. That's more than acceptable.” 

They both laughed. “That's.. that's good!” Sherlock gave a final squeeze before releasing John. “Now that I'm back to normal, we'll need to do another brain scan and compare it to the one when I was a cat. But more importantly,” Sherlock snapped his mouth shut, and glanced curiously at John. ::Can you still hear this?::

\--

It was only days after that, both of them still in a haze of good feelings, finally unlocked and given freely, that Sherlock made an excellent deduction. 

His deductions were always excellent, of course, but this one clicked the rest of the pieces in aunt Penny's words neatly into place. 

::Mind beast! How dare you invade my home, you rotten speaker! I'll make you bleed, I'll make your mate bleed, I'll-::

::Harpy!:: John mentally barked. His suggestions never worked on her, but for once she went quiet. ::You're my familiar, aren't you, Harpy?::

Harpy was silent for a long time. Her tortoiseshell coat- a jumbled mess of chocolate and cream that blended with dirt from the ally- seemed to gleam off her undernourished frame. Finally, she imperiously flicked her tail. ::Took you long enough:: Her eyes practically glinted with challenge as she trotted to his side. ::Now lead me to your mind beast fortress, will you? If we're going to be working together, there will be many adjustments.::

John nearly choked on a laugh. The change in demeanour was downright startling. ::What adjustments?::

::For starters, I need my space! By now you should understand that when I talk about territory, I'm serious! And for another, your mate clearly needs some boundaries set. You only stop walking by here when he takes up too much of your time. If you're going to be my familiar you need to take control of yourself! Demand respect like the filthy talking mind beast you are!::

Well, maybe there wasn't much of a change in demeanour at all. John just knew aunt Penny was going to laugh at this development, but somehow, it worked. 

\--

“Say, don't you suppose the freak's gotten even more freakish lately?” Donovan commented once, when she was certain the consultant detective and his partner were long gone. 

“What do you mean?” Lestrade replied. “I think he's actually mellowed out a bit. Still horrible to most people, though. You're right that there's something different, but I don't think it's bad.”

“bad? He's pulled our arms into letting a bloody stray cat onto crime scenes!” Anderson complained, jumping into the conversation. “After the dogs... there is something more than usual freaky-ness going on.”

Both Donovan and Lestrade rolled their eyes. Anderson had been having a rough time with the police dogs lately, and no one quite knew why. He kept claiming that it was other dogs too, and that somehow this was Sherlock's fault. The idea was completely ridiculous- Donovan hated the freak too, but she wasn't about to ascribe witchcraft to him!

“No, the cat thing was weirder than normal, but there's something else.” Donovan ignored Anderson's attempts at justifying himself. “He doesn't talk as much, lately. But he still gets that smug look when he's just explained something, and John looks impressed right along with it. It's like they're still speaking, mentally.” 

“See? See!? There's something up, something unnatural- and not in a psychotic way. An entire city of dogs don't just suddenly have it out for one man!”

“Shut up, Anderson.” Lestrade sighed. Donovan merely snorted. Because as weird as the freak was, he definitely couldn't use any kind of mind speak. It was probably just an extension of that creepy ability the freak had to read people in general. And maybe John had picked up just enough to reciprocate a bit. They did live together, after all.

Besides, Donovan was a bit more observant than many, the freak included, would expect. If anyone had a mysterious power like that, it would be John. The man was so unassuming, most forgot he was a qualified doctor, never mind a hardened soldier as well. Not that John could actually speak telepathically with Sherlock, even if it did answer the question of why the pair was so silent ever since that long break in freak-worthy cases. That would be ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, there it is! The longest chapter, I think. I hope you all enjoyed this silly little fic, I had a good time writing it! And if you liked to to the end, please leave a comment, i always appreciate them even if I don't respond- usually I feel a bit awkward responding to a comment unless a question was asked. But yeah, the comments so far have kept me going. You guys are great ^^

**Author's Note:**

> as stated in one of the other chapter notes somewhere, I've only watched season 1. I got partway through ep 1 of season 2 (laughed my ass off at the buckingham scene) but I got uncomfortable when Irene showed up and stopped watching (nothing against that type of character, I just feel second hand embarrassment really easily, so sexually confident female characters end up making me feel super embarrassed and awkward for no reason to the point where I can't watch. Males characters too but to a lesser extent because like it or not it's been more conditioned as acceptable. So yeah, bring on the Irenes, I'm just not strong enough lmao)
> 
> anyways, I guess that means this takes place between s1 and s2. I forget how long the gap really is after the pool thing, but let's say it's a long while.


End file.
